


Crazy is What Crazy Does

by OnceRulesofSuperWalkingPotter



Series: 500 Fic Challenge [36]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: Anal Sex, Hurt Crixus, Ill-Preparation, Language, M/M, Mean Spartacus, Petty Spartacus, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reluctant Submissive Crixus, Revenge Sex, Slight Crazy Sparty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceRulesofSuperWalkingPotter/pseuds/OnceRulesofSuperWalkingPotter
Summary: Spartacus pays Crixus a visit in the Medicus that he wont soon forget. A continuation of number 18? 19? of the fic challenge.





	Crazy is What Crazy Does

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so I have a bunch of things on my plate and as a result of getting nothing accomplished, some sweat, lots of tears and even some blood, I have decided to make a schedule! If you guys want I will post it, but for the most part I will be working on the fic challenge two nights a week, Severest Lessons once and CBCB once a week. There will be a day where I'm helping my friend organize some of his stuff and another day to fics that are not Spartacus. The last day is left for editing and completion of things. SO with that being said there should be SOMETHING posted at least once a week. Thank you guys for your help, patience, bunnies, summaries comments and kudos! I super appreciate it! Shout out to CrixusFan for helping me out a lot! I hope you guys enjoy!

Sura was dead. Pietros was dead. Gnaeus was dead. All around him was death. More and more each day. Some nights Spartacus doesn't think he can ever get the blood off of his skin. Thank the gods for Varro. Reminding him or pointing it out to him that he was clean. Alone in the dark, in his own little personal cell though; there was no Varro unfortunately. There was just memories. And one was making itself known more clearly than before the last couple of days. Growling to himself, the Thracian storms across the sands all but bursting into the Medicus'.

The older man was currently redressing Crixus' wounds looking up at Spartacus in surprise. Spartacus points to the door without a word. The medicus looks down at an equally confused Crixus before picking up his supplies and bolting. With a pained grunt, Crixus sits up on his elbows, fighting a coughing fit. 

"Wha-cugh- what are you d-dohoing?" He manages to ask. Spartacus sneers, waltzing over to lean down over him. 

"Showing you the truth." Crixus makes a face. He starts to fight when Spartacus begins to use the straps to pin the Gaul down. 

"Truth? You mad fuck! What fucking truth? Let go of me, you fucking cunt." He groans and snaps, wiggling as much as his injuries would allow. He even tries to aim a kick towards Spartacus. But to no avail. Crixus suddenly finds himself with his knees up and spread wide, arms tied down to the side of the cot, attached by the wrist to his ankles. The length of leather between his appendages not long enough for this to be comfortable. 

"What a pretty picture you make Crixus. Barca would have been pleased." Spartacus taunts. Crixus gnashes his teeth together, cursing and struggling. 

"I'll fucking kill you for this!" He promises. Spartacus laughs, a cruel sound that Crixus has never heard from the Thracian before. Something has  _ snapped _ in this man. For a moment he worries if Varro has fallen. But then he reminds himself that he would already know that information. The last death they've had was Gnaeus. And if Spartacus was broken over that, it made no sense. 

"You can try." Spartacus responds stripping out of his subligaria, roughly yanking Crixus free of his own clothing. "But you will fail. You failed to put me beneath you, you failed to kill Theokoles, and you failed to save yourself." Crixus grimaces, doing what he could to pull away from Spartacus's sudden touch. 

"Fucking cunt!" Crixus shouts. Spartacus ignores him, dragging the pad of his fingertip down against the outer muscles of his entrance. 

"I remember you know." Spartacus informs him. His voice had changed again. Calm, collected. Matter-of-fact sounding. They could be talking about the fucking weather for all the emotion put into it. "The first words I heard you say to me." Crixus looks at him as if he's lost his damned mind. Besides it's probably true, someone broke the rabbit. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Spartacus's eyes trail up to meet Crixus'. He sucks in a harsh breath, somehow he keeps forgetting how  _ intense _ those blue eyes can get. 

"You said, 'well, lick my hole.' remember?" Oh no. 

“Spartacus, don-” He didn’t even get the chance to threaten the Thracian. A hard slap across his face was drowned out by the broken shout, “ _ That is NOT my name _ !” 

Crixus wasn’t sure what to do here. He was trapped. Really and truly trapped. For the first time since being bought by Batiatus does he think, for a moment, that he hated being a slave. That he hated the fact that he didn’t have a choice. Nothing was going to help him in this situation. Not his love for Naevia, Lucretia’s obsession with him, or the amount of victories he has won for this house alone. Nor any of the allies or “friends” he’s made, even in Oenomaus and Barca. Not Ashur’s poor, but sometimes good timing to interrupt things. All of his combat skills, nothing. He was going to have to  sit  and suffer. 

“Then do it.” Crixus challenges, eyes blazing. His anger was all he had left. If he let it go….then there would be nothing but a frightened child. Something he refuses to let  _ the rabbit _ see. 

Spartacus’s eye twitches a little. 

“You doubt that I will? You are no longer champion. Remember that Crixus. If it was not for me you’d be dead. Lost to history.” Crixus scowls at him for a second before his face falls to a calm mask. 

“Prove it. Are you truly Champion? Do you have what it takes?” Spartacus makes a frustrated sound, shoving two fingers unceremoniously inside Crixus’ unprepared hole. With his free hand, the Thracian covers Crixus’ mouth, muffling the scream of pain and surprise. 

“Do not doubt what I will do. What I  _ can _ do.” Crixus’s rocks in place, fighting his restraints when Spartacus brushes against some sort of exposed nerve that sent lightening through him. “And what I  **will** do.” He whispers low pressing his cock into the juncture of Crixus’s hip. It was hot and hard, and for some unknown reason Crixus found it made his own twitch. 

He doesn’t like the shift in those blue eyes. Doesn’t like the tilt of Spartacus’s head. 

Without a word, Spartacus curls his fingers again, sending more fire up Crixus’ spine. 

“Mhrph.” He curses as best as he could. 

“Crixus.” Spartacus practically coos. Crixus squeezes his eyes shut begging the gods to just kill him now. “Is this why you fought with me so much?” Crixus bites the inside of his cheeks when Spartacus started pumping the invasive digits. “Why you were so violent with me? All you had to do was ask.” Crixus’s eyes fly open looking up at him. Spartacus grins, looking more normal now than he had. But it mattered not. Crixus could  _ feel _ the crazy on him. “I’ll fuck you. Rough, and hard just the way you showed me you wished for it.” Oh fuck. 

Crixus glares at him and does something even he himself considered stupid. 

He bites the Thracian's hand. 

“Fucking bitch!” Spartacus hisses yanking his hand back. Crixus spits at him, angry that he hadn't drawn blood. 

“Remove your fucking hand from ass or I will remove your hand from your body!” Crixus threatens. Spartacus shakes his hurt appendage with a bark of a laugh. 

“Strong words coming from someone with so little strength.” Crixus’ lip curls. 

“Touch me again and I swear it will be the end of your life.” Crixus gets his wish. Spartacus does in fact remove his fingers. The trade off of getting choked being worth it was debatable. 

“You are in no position to threaten me. Empty promises falling on deaf ears. You think I fear death? I throw myself at the bastard daily. The gods will not have me.” Crixus twitches feeling his throat being crushed. There were dots in his vision and his head started pounding with the sudden lack of air. His struggling resumes when Spartacus shifts, cock suddenly pressed against Crixus’ entrance. “Stop fighting me or find your wounds reopened.” The jackass whispers. Almost as if he was concerned. Crixus tries to spit at him again but the hold on his throat just tightens. 

An animalistic shout tears its way through Crixus as Spartacus forces his way inside. The Gaul was disgusted to hear a satisfied groan slip from Spartacus's lips. Eyes squeezed shut in pain, Crixus was blind to the shocked look on the Champion's face. Crixus doesn't miss the fact that his grip went slack and he could  _ breathe _ again though.

“You Thracian  _ cunt _ !” He shouts, the sound echoing back off the stone walls. Spartacus adjusts himself, hands gliding down Crixus’ sides, shushing him.

“Hush now, you don’t want someone to come in here do you?” Crixus scowls, his struggles resuming. “If you wish for an audience that can be arranged as well.” Another scream as Spartacus thrusts harshly. 

“Any one of the other men would come to my aid you-”

“And what they will find is the  _ Champion _ of Capua,” another scream, Spartacus’ pace more forceful than before, “taking the Undefeated Gaul like a bitch.” Crixus could feel the horror and truth of the statement sink in. Through the blinding pain his pride rears its head, refusing to allow anyone to know of this. 

“Bastard.” He whispers. Spartacus grinds his hips relishing in the pained sound the Gaul makes.

“Go ahead. Do what you must to bear this. The knowledge that you are beneath me.” Crixus feels his stomach twist in disgust when Spartacus moans. “You’re so  **tight** Crixus. As if you were made for my cock.”  

“I was made for battle you fucking shit!” Crixus argues back, twisting as much as he could. He’d give anything to stop this. Hell, he would rather be facing Theokoles again, or at the early stages of his recovery. He’s been training for years to endure all sorts of torture that he may encounter; but nothing has prepared him for this. The burning sensation has him fearing he was going to be split in two.

“Stop fighting me and I can make this enjoyable for you Crixus.” Spartacus murmurs, slowing himself, Crixus tries to stop his legs from shaking once Spartacus’ hands brace themselves on Crixus’ thighs, “Or, you can continue to be  _ stubborn _ ,” Crixus cries out at the bruising grip the Thracian uses to spread them apart farther than necessary, “and suffer.” 

“E- _ enjoy _ this? You’ve lost your mind if you think I would EVER enjoy your cock.” Crixus glares up at him, brown eyes blazing a fire that even this act of violence will not diminish. Spartacus grins, looking much like the mad dog he’s been compared to in the past. 

“Submit to me Crixus, the way I know you wish to, and find out for yourself.” Crixus refuses to grace that with a response.  _ Obviously _ the Thracian was crazy. Trying to find a logical way out of this wasn’t going to work. Spartacus seemed to not appreciate his silence, scratching his nails down to Crixus’ knees. 

“ _ Fuck you _ .” Crixus growls through clenched teeth. Spartacus looms over him, hands sliding underneath the Gaul to grope his ass. Crixus blinks at him, the pain slowly fading from a sharp, stabbing feeling to a dull ache. What lifting him up a little had to do with anything was beyond him. 

Not that Spartacus made him wait long to figure it out. 

Crixus’ mouth falls open, a silent scream constricting in his chest. The nerve from before was suddenly being assaulted. With the new found angle, Spartacus’ cock rammed against it every time the bastard slams himself into Crixus. It was unlike anything Crixus has ever experienced. The pain of being torn open by force, enough that he was sure there was blood, combined with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. His body convulses uncertain on how to react. Of its own accord, Crixus’ cock springs to life, encouraged by the new found friction being trapped between Spartacus’ naval and Crixus’ own. 

“I told you,” Crixus flinches, the hot breath against his neck was simultaneously, sickening and alluring, “oh, Crixus, I know you could be so good for me. Accept your new Champion. Accept your fate.” Spartacus ghosts his lips across Crixus’ collar bone. “Or be destroyed by it.” Words he once heard from Dominus, long ago. Crixus closes his mouth with a click of his teeth. He refuses to encourage the damned Thracian anymore. 

Spartacus groans burying his face into Crixus’ neck. He came here for revenge, and that was exactly what he has received. It was simply alarming to learn how much he enjoys this, and how disturbingly good he was at it. Just like being a gladiator. In the back of his head he could hear Sura crying. Lamenting that he was no better than a Roman. Guilt naws at him, weighing on his shoulders. Rage was louder, his pride fanning that particular fire. The Romans took everything from him. And Crixus,  _ Crixus _ treated him just as horribly as they had. Worse so. Forcing Spartacus to his knees? At least Spartacus was kind enough to coax the Gaul into enjoying himself. He gives his handful a squeeze, starting a more systematic rhythm. The bastard found release with Spartacus’ mouth easily enough. Spartacus was positive he could get Crixus to enjoy his cock as well. 

“Ngh!” Crixus whimpers, clenching down unexpectedly. Spartacus hums rolling his hips again.

“That’s right, I told you it could be good for you. Accept it, lose yourself in it.” Crixus tosses his head back and forth eyes shut tight. Spartacus almost pouts noticing this. “You once thought me beneath you, mouth made for your cock.” Crixus bites his lip, the memory swirling in his mind. 

“As I recall, you enjoyed yourself.” Crixus snaps at him. Spartacus wraps his arms around Crixus’ torso, careful of the scars. 

“So follow instruction and do the same.” He quips right back. 

Crixus wrestles with himself. Giving into Spartacus was accepting the fact that the Thracian was not only the Champion; but dominate over Crixus. Yet, every movement has him biting back a moan. He had thought, the pain would have kept his focus on fighting, on his anger and hatred. Instead it seemed to have twisted itself in with the pleasure. Mixing the two sensations and turning his mind into mush. Crixus was helpless, forcing himself to stay silent, while doing what he could to help Spartacus chase his own release. 

Words fell short, the two of them turning their minds over to carnal lust and desire. Crixus trying to reason with himself that once he was healed he would be able to repay Spartacus for this insulting injury. For now, ignoring his pride. Gasping and panting like the whore he feels he has become for Spartacus. Never before has he been so desperate for release, and fighting against that seemed crazier than the Thracian. The most he could move was his head and without begging he wasn’t sure how to get Spartacus to speed the fuck up. Compared to earlier the bitch was practically pampering him. The lack of pain should have been a relief. Crixus was being driven mad by the almost gentle treatment. His traitorous body was craving something else, something  _ more _ .  

“Do you think me a woman?” Crixus suddenly barks at him. Startled by the sudden speech, Spartacus falters, pulling back.

“Do I- what?” This was not part of the plan. He had thought enjoying himself was going to be the most change in the latest hair brained scheme of his. Turns out the Gaul was full of surprises. 

“You think yourself Champion? Had I not told you before to prove yourself to me? So far all I see is that you have what it takes to suck my cock and fuck like a bitch.” 

“Fuck like- you shit eating Gaul!” Spartacus snarls a hand snatching itself into Crixus’ hair, pulling his head back. Crixus thinks his roots were going to be ripped out, the pain a welcomed thing. “You forget where you are Crixus. You forget who I am.” Crixus shouts again as Spartacus becomes harsh and rough once more. 

“No, Thracian. You forget who  _ I _ am. Do your worst, see yourself to completion and know that this isn’t over.” Crixus taunts, suddenly fighting the urge to smile. Spartacus curses under his breath. 

“I’ll fucking see you to completion, fucking cunt.” Spartacus twists his hips paying more attention to his cock disappearing into Crixus than the brunette’s face. Spartacus’ mouth thins, every muscle in his body tightening, he feels more like he was hurtling through the air. Determined to have Crixus finish first, Spartacus teases the sensitive bundle, avoiding it every other thrust. Watching Crixus squirm was more satisfying than it should have been. 

Crixus quivers, a moan that sounded almost like a whine slipping past his lips. Spartacus was being torturous. His legs were screaming in pain, the angle he was at having not been comfortable in the first place. Arms straining, the binding cutting into his skin. All of these things should have had his mind come back to reality. Crixus finds himself wriggling, trying to get the ropes to give even just a little. 

“Your mouth works better.” Crixus grumbles feebly thrusting upwards. Spartacus pinches one of Crixus’ nipples with a sharp twist in response. 

It was like being struck by lightning. Crixus jolts, arching as best as he could. Pain pulsing through him. From the wounds, to abused hole, what hurt more he couldn’t tell. Spartacus’ movements became jerking and uncoordinated. Crixus clenching down restricting any actual rhythm. Something that sounded suspiciously like Spartacus’ name tumbled from his mouth in a rapid fire repetition. Spartacus shivers hating how he enjoyed the sound coming from Crixus. 

“And suddenly it all makes sense to me.” He twists the other way forcing himself to remain still as Crixus thrashes. “The Undefeated Gaul, charging into battle to get his kicks.” Crixus whimpers, feeling as much on the edge as he would training on the cliff. 

“S-Spartacus.” Crixus felt out of control. He was close, close enough that he knows a few more hits at the right angle would send him over. The want, gods help him the  _ want _ was eating away at his resolve. 

“Come for me Crixus,” Spartacus yanks at Crixus’ hair, “come on my cock, give yourself to me and this will all be over.” Crixus keens at the abuse, words seeming to fall on deaf ears. 

Spartacus shakes his head not waiting on a response as he continuously pounds away, trying to remember why the hell it was important for Crixus to finish first. He could be mistaken but he could swear he could hear Sura screaming at him from a distance. His heart clenches at the thought of her, and he forces himself to ignore it. Choosing to bend down and latch himself onto Crixus’ neck. Crixus shout was half hearted, the force of Spartacus’ bite choking the sound back, he was pleased to feel a sticky heat smearing across his chest and stomach. Crixus slumps, his shout fading into a moan. His victory at hand Spartacus doesn’t last long, hips stuttering, the muscles around his cock spasm around him. Forcing his release. 

Spartacus cries out softly, a line of drool connecting from Crixus’ skin to his tongue obscenely. 

The two of them lie still, catching their breath for a moment, minds trying to process what just transpired. 

 

“I will kill you for this.” Crixus whispers, being the first to recover. Spartacus chuckles licking the bite on his neck. 

“You can certainly try. I welcome the attempt.” Crixus blanches looking at him in some sort of deranged horror. 

“You got what you wanted. Now go. Send the medicus back, and remove yourself from sight.” Spartacus smiles at him amused, pulling out, a little shakier than he had intended. 

“Still giving demands?” He notices the flash of pain on Crixus’ face as he removes his cock. Good. He hopes the bastard was hurting. “Perhaps tomorrow I shall try this again. Maybe then you will accept your place.” Spartacus mockingly suggests. Crixus glares daggers at him. 

“Perhaps tomorrow I shall place your head on a spike!” Spartacus laughs as he dresses.

“Worry not. I shall send the medicus. Perhaps he can help you lick your wounds as he sets you back to rights.” Crixus watches wide eyed as Spartacus,  _ saunters _ out the fucking door. He looks down at himself feeling a blush crawl its way across his skin. Tied up is one thing. But he could only imagine the sight he must look. Tied up, ass open, used and abused, seeping with Spartacus’ seed and probably some blood….a right proper whore. 

“I’m going to kill him. Or die trying.” Crixus mutters to himself as the medicus steps back into sight. 


End file.
